


Story Ideas

by Rainbow_Gigglemug



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Original Character(s), Other, Science Fiction, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21802405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Gigglemug/pseuds/Rainbow_Gigglemug
Summary: A place for me to place my various plot bunnies for original works.





	1. The Undying King

The Undying King –

Is elf, named Serissis

Is 16,000 give or take a few centuries

Is known as a cruel, violent being, he’s really just a dork who only results to violence when necessary. Due to his age and how people evolve he is rather on the short side, having not aged past his 390th birthday.

He hates gods and has a deal with the got of the dead 1) he can choose when he dies but until he does he must watch the world around him pass by including his loved ones and descendants and 2) he can mass heal but it literally eats him from the inside out, the more he heals the more damage and longer it takes him to recover, everything comes with a price.

Everyone either treats him as a font of information or is terrified to make him angry.

He goes to investigate a growing source of dark magic only to be found napping under an oak tree by a young ellon. Seeing as no one knows what the undying king looks like or his real name he’s delighted to find that the young ellon treats him as normal.

They begin a friendship that is gradually shifting into a relationship, it is slow going because Serissis is still investigating the dark magic.

The source of the magic is revealed as an army appears set on attaching the city and establishing a foothold. Serissis joins the fight much to the man’s surprise, trading common robes for the robes and staff of a high powered and classed Magus who creates a barrier and then proceeds to enhance the meager armor and weapons of the city’s militia and fight with them. After it is over, he uses his second deal to heal the wounded before the god of the dead can take those who are dyeing though he can’t revive the dead while telling death off despite vomiting blood and leaning heavily on his staff. He apologizes to the young ellon and introduces himself to the cities lord before being escorted to the healing chambers.

He recovers by the next day and learns a messenger had arrived with a message addressed to the Magus who had fought with the militia (magic makes instant messages a thing, sending a person is considered fancy.)

The messenger recognizes Serissis and near has a panic attack while Serissis tries to calm him down after laughing at the message itself. When the messenger tries to leave with his reply right away Serissis stops him and insists that he rest first. While the messenger rests Serissis keeps trying to calm him down, going so far as to explain the events behind some of the more known actions he’s taken, even laughing about one as it had been nothing but a funny tale told to a group of children by him and his personal guard after he had fallen into a puddle.

Serissis had to return to his kingdom after the messenger leaves though he will stay in contact with the city as the attack on it was a sure sign of another war on the horizon. During the ensuing time Serissis continues to see the young ellon who joins the cities growing army and eventually asks to accompany Serissis. Serissis has him trained to be one of the best and he takes up the empty post of Serissis’ personal guard.

As the war drags on Serissis decides to confront the enemy straight on and a great battle ensues and they win and live happily ever after the end.


	2. Chapter 2

TRAPPED IN A GAME STORY:  
(game name) has been out for a few years now with a massive player base that ranges into the tens of thousands every day. One day the players un game are surprised by what seems to be a game wide glitch. Not long after people start reporting that they are unable to log off. This extends to players who, not believing the rumors, log on anyway.  
A group of five are being chased by a group of PKers and they try to take refuge in an old-world forest in the wilds. In the forest they find a lone cottage and their healer begs for whoever is inside to help as the Pkers capture two of the five and begin taunting the others. Just as it seems the PKers are going to win they cottage door opens and an elf appears. He beats and chasses the PKers off and then tells the group to heal then GTFO there.The next morning when the player goes outside his little cottage, he finds that the groups is tending his small farm. He angrily asks them WTF and tries to chase them off but the group insists on paying him back. Elf grumbles and glares but assumes that will be that and returns inside to his small magic study room.It’s not until evening when he realizes that the group have still yet to leave when he smells something, frankly, delicious and investigates to find them all in his house and setting his table after preparing a thick stew. They encourage him to join them and he refuses. They healer, with sad puppy dog eyes begs him to at least take a bowl with him if he is going to hide again.  
Elf gives into the fairies begging and sits at the table instead. The group easily falls into a lively discussion while the leader keeps an eye on the elf who, after tasting the stew, begins to calmly wolf down the bowl. He carefully makes sure no one mentions it aside from the cook being happy he liked it.  
Blushing furiously Elf refuses to look at any of them but taps the table, replacing their simple cups of water with a high quality wine. The group take it as the thank you it is.  
Elf still insists they leave in the mourning and the group agrees, though they make sure to place a strong enough hold spell on the large pot of stew to last him a week at least. Elf thinks nothing of it when he finds them gone until he receives a pm frantically calling for help.  
The five-person group had just been leaving the forest when they stumbled upon the same group of PKers this time with 30 or so low levels, they were transporting them to their guild hub to force them to work but the group couldn’t let that stand.  
Elf doesn’t think twice and hurries to their location and clobbers the now larger group again chasing them off. Elf is about to leave when one of the low levels lets out a yell of surprise upon realizing the title floating about Elf’s health bar, The Elven King. The low levels then explains how Elverion, the Elf’s guild, had been on of the guilds that had tried to help people when the glitch happened but that they had vanished one day and how they were so glad to meet the one their sibling had told them about even before the glitch.  
Elf crewly snappes at him abou the guild being dead and he was the only one left before beginning to storm into the forest. He’s stopped by a ping, then another, then another until he has thirty or so requests to join his guild. He just stares that the requests a moment before glaring at the thirty low levels.  
The one wo spoke before steps up saying he doesn’t expect anything from Elf, just that he would be honored to be a member of the elven king’s kingdom. He goes on about all the stories he’d been told of the King’s kindness and helpfulness which spanned all the way back to when the game had launched.  
Elf caves after he receives the requests from the group of five to join his guild, one stating that it nothing else it would be a way to watch over some of the lower level players. Elf accepts them all, as the first tenant of his guild was always everyone was welcome.  
After the group settles and heals they ask if the can gather others to join the guild and Elf gives them permission.  
Later, one for the five approach and ask why he didn’t have the gm robes that usually came with the title. He tells them with blank eyes that he’d burned them. After a round of questions the elf snappes that he’d done it because he’d failed his guild, that he hadn’t protected them and hadn’t deserved the robes after that. Elf locks himself back in his cottage after that.  
Later two low levels are in a small town asking people if they would like to join the guild, many higher ups are laughing saying the elven king was long gone and so was his guild. However when a low levels timidly asks to join the higher ups are shocked then they shout out that the guild is real and that he’d just gotten the welcome message from the elven king himself. A few dozen people approach after that, some leaving their guilds to join elf’s.  
As the two are happily welcoming people into the guild a group from the same PKing guild as before crashes the party. As they are tormenting the lower levels despite the newly minted guild members trying to help they send a call for help to Elf. The group of five are surprised when he storms out of his cottage and demands they come with him as he portals to the village.  
There he reveals himself to be the elven king, equipping his signature brown and green robes and deer antler crown. He doesn’t fight them this time as they are cautious after hearing about the other’s defeat. Elf notices the towns local water source, a large fountain in the middle of the city, is not flowing. As the Pkers continue to sneer but otherwise not act he walks over and asks a nearby player why its not running. It’s revealed the PK guild had bought the fountain, thus cutting off the supply and more or less enslaving the town. Elf remains stoic as more of the Pkers start porting in before suddenly there’s a burst of music and confetti as a banner appears announcing the new owner of the town.  
It’s elf.  
With a few button presses the water in the city begins to flow again and he turns to the Pkers telling them that their guild was no longer welcome. Being the owner this is enforced by the PKers being forcibly teleported out of the city. Elf proceeds to cast a special ability that came with his title called ‘City Renewal’ which proceeds to repair and restore the entire village though now in a style that denotes it as being part of Elf’s Kingdome. He proceeds to give a speech to those around him, promising protection from the PKers and a safe haven for those who needed it regardless of what guild they were in.  
Elf is flooded with requests to join the guild after that. Back at the forest Elf asks Leader if he would like to be his second in command as he’s definitely going to need one. Leader agrees then sets up the four others of his group into mentor positions. Elf begins to train his ever growing list of guild member if, for nothing else, to help them survive. During this he realizes he hadn’t seen any of the players utilize their racial skill which grants them race specific wings and allows flight. He comes to learn that without the assist, none of them have learned the skill.  
Elf balks at this before promising to help them learn even though the flight mechanics are different for elves and fey because they have fey wings and other races have feather and scaled. Its then that he takes the group of five to another guild’s large fortress. The guards heckle and smear Elf as he comes close, refusing to tell their leader he is there. Taking maters into his own hands, Elf uses an item that increases the range of his shout and yells for the GM by name. The woman practically beaks down the gate of her own fortress before proceeding to smother him in a large hug. She promises to discipline the two guards when he tells her about their actions before enthusiastically agreeing when elf asks her if she can lend them a few people to teach his low levels how to fly.  
Thus continues the story of them all surviving and living together and trying to find a way out of the game.  
One day Elf calls them all together to announce that they’d collected enough experience that he can show them why he’d chosen to live out the old forest region. In a glorious show of magic the forest changes, the trees growing and that’s when they all begin to see houses, bridges, lights and ladders appear. The forest itself is the guild’s hall, elf reveals, but it’d been locked down because he had spent the guilds experience trying to help his original members and after so many had left there was not enough exp to open it again until now.  
As the others explore the five approach Elf and he finally tells them of how he had logged in after the stories of people not being able to log out spread because a good number of his guild had been on at the time. He had wanted to help those that were trapped since the guild had vast resources and plenty of space, not everyone agreed, most notably his second in command. His second had then proceeded to lead a Koop, emptying the guilds resources and killing as many members as they could until Elf was the only one left but he refused to give up the guild name. Since it had become impossible to set up an in game guild after the glitch the second had no choice but to leave and join a PKer guild and take it over. The guild they had had problems with the entire time was this guild.  
After many different trails everyone is finally freed from the game and though the adjustment is hard and the game is shut down most are happy. Elf starts a forum to continue talking with those that were in his guild. Then, one day as he’s going to a local game con in a costume replica of the armor and weapon he’d gained in the game Elf enters the panel dedicated to the old game only to be greated with a cry of “all hail the elven king!”  
He finds himself surrounded by over 100 members of his guild, all in their armor and baring the guild’s crest. At the front of the group, are the five, all of different nationalities.  
They all have a grate time and continue to keep in touch with each other after and they all live happily ever after, the end


	3. Soul Being Idea 01

Colril stood with most of the village as they stared at the dark clouds that hung in the sky just past the fields. There was no question what it was. Frailrie and Qaleroth, his parents Soul Companions were tense by his side.  
Qaleroth made a disgruntled noise and drew Colril’s attention, “what is it?”  
“There’s a branch of clouds that just broke off. It’s not headed towards the village but it’s going to pass close.”  
Wydeyr, Colril’s father, frowned, “do you think the two of you can hold it?”  
Colril bit his tongue, his parents were the only two Bonded in the village, of course his father would offer to fight.  
“Wait,” Frailrie squinted at the moving darkness, “I think, Qal I don’t think they’re leading the shadow, they’re moving too fast.”  
A small shape was taking form just in front of the moving darkness, weaving erratically. They waited on pins and needles as the shape moved closer and Colril couldn’t stop a sharp intake of breath when the shape swung down low, he was sure they had brushed the wheat before they managed to climb again.  
“Can either of you see it yet?”  
“Soul companion, not sure of the class or specialty though.”  
Colril eyed Qaleroth’s uncomfortable scowl, “Qal?”  
“Backlash.”  
The air went cold.  
“What!?” Colril’s mother Yestela gasped.  
“It’s backlash and it’s damned determined to catch that Companion. Considering it’s reached this far, unless our friend there is one of the most powerful alive, that level of backlash will kill them. And that’s if they were in peak health.”  
The words unsaid weighed heavy on Colril’s head. He was an unusual case after all, having grown up with Qaleroth and Frailrie acting as an extra set of parents the stories of Soul Companions being abused or harmed by their master’s foolishness always bothered him. Backlash only occurred when a master gave an order the Soul Companion refused to answer. Depending on both the order and the master the backlash varied from a light shock to what he was seeing now.  
The Soul companion was close now, he had veered of his original course and the village was almost directly in their path.  
“Qal, Fra, prepare yourselves.”  
The warning seemed unneeded as the closing Soul Companion waivered and then turned sharply away from the village, the trailing tendrils of darkness were so close Colril could make out smaller ones that he had initially though were single solid flows.  
The small group of five watched in surprise as, though most of the flow followed the companion a sizable chunk had broken off and was still heading towards the village.  
“Damn! It’s gone out of control, targeting us because we’re the only nearby. You three should get under cover, now,” Qaleroth ordered sternly as he and Frailrie called their respective weapons and armor, Qaleroth bringing to bare his large intricate longbow and Frailrie brandishing her dual swords.  
The three moved to follow his order as the two went forward to confront the magic. They couldn’t repel the larger body but if they used all they had there was a chance they could at least redirect it.  
They didn’t get the chance.  
Colril jerked around at the shout of shock and pain that ripped through the village center, he was shocked when he discovered the source.  
Saying the Soul Companion looked worse for ware would have been a massive understatement. Their armor was covered in so much blood and filth Colril couldn’t tell you what the original color had been. A section of their long silver hair had rather obviously been burned away, what skin he could make out was less light peach and more varying shades of black, blue and yellow green. What wasn’t marred by gashes and scrapes anyway.  
Colril was so distracted by the Soul Companion’s state that it took him a moment to find what had ripped the cry from the blood-spattered lips. A thick, unrelenting tendril of darkness was latched around one frail looking forearm not far in front of Frailrie.  
It was all it needed. In the blink of an eye the Companion was nearly swallowed by the grasping magic, the sound of delicate wing bones snapping made Colril ill.  
Qaleroth and Frailrie were not idle, once the surprise had worn off the duo had lurched back into action, now to assist the brother that had placed himself in danger to protect them.  
It didn’t take a man of high intelligence to see that their efforts were less than worthless as each destroyed section was replaced by more twice as thick.  
Colril didn’t know how long the fight lasted for, what was most clear to him was the sad, hopeless look in a pair of dark eyes as they met his and a silent plea for his parents to call back their Companions.  
He knew his parents were considering just that, the more their Soul Companions fought the more likely they would be pulled into the punishment.  
“There is one way to stop backlash in its tracks.”  
“neither f us have the strength to maintain two bonds husband.”  
Colril wasted no time as he realized what his parents were thinking of. Sprinting forward, Colril ducked and dodged the magic around him, thankful that it was the less essential tendrils that targeted him, his parent’s Companions shifting to protect him without orders until he slid to a stop before the bound Soul Companions.  
“What’s your name?”  
The name is broken and repeated three times before he makes it out fully,  
“Zelzerit (Insert carefully thought out formal contract thingy here)”  
Zelzerit ripped his arm free and took Colril’s hand, “accepted!”  
In an instant the grasping flows of magic faded and Zelzerit fell in a bloodied heap. Frailrie rushed forward, healing spells on her tongue as Qaleroth began sorting out their new companion’s wings.  
“He’s unconscious, we need to get him home.”  
Colril only vaguely remember the trip home aside from knowing they were lent a hay cart to transport Zelzerit. He watched in silence as Qal and Fra worked to staunch bleeding and reset bone.  
“He’ll heal.”  
Colril turned to see his father beside him.  
“He’s a strong SC, it makes you wonder what the order he revoked was.”  
“Yeah.”  
(Skippy skip skip, Zel wakes up, Col’s mom helps him fix his hair and Zel loves her to bits because, well, mumy but he’d not impressed with his new master and they all discover he’s a sassy, dirty mouthed arrogant SOB, complete 180 whenever mummy Yestela is in the area though and gives him that look. She made him a new tunic, he hates yellow, he wears that shit anyway)  
Colril, his parents and their three companions rushed towards the village. A heavy miasma was settled over the rooftops and the waves of power that rolled across the plains made the hair on Zelzerit’s neck stand on end. His wings were still carefully bundled against his back, it mad him feels uncomfortably exposed.  
They arrived just as a female Soul Companion unleashed a wave of power that throws a handful of villagers into the sides of buildings.  
“Oh, what’s this? They do have Companions after all.” Says a man on a large horse, he’s wearing a full set of heavy armor trademarked as one of the royal captains of (insert name of bad side here).  
“No matter, master. I’ll take care of them.”  
Colril looked at Zelzerit in surprise at the snort of amusement he heard, “you…”  
“Master, give me the order, I’ll deal with her.”  
The look in Zelzerit’s eyes unnerves Colril for some reason but he has a feeling that not giving the order is a bad idea.  
“Consider it given, get them out of our town.”  
“Yes Master.”  
(Yes talking while fighting is a bad but the SCs believe in ‘flighting’ just as much as true battles so, yeah, lots of snarky snark)  
The calm, leisurely way Zelzerit approached the other Soul Companion is mockingly obvious paired with the sharp grin that casts a mad light to his face.  
“It’s been awhile Aldryde, still looking for the rest of your armor, are we?”  
The twitch in the woman’s cheek was obvious, “Zelzerit, figured you’d be dead by now. A peasant boy for a new master though? How the proud have fallen.”  
Zelzerit let out a cackle, “says the bitch so desperate she’s taken up with a common soldier boy.”  
Aldryde lunged forward with a snarl, clawed gauntlets barred, “says the one who betrayed his master!”  
Zelzerit side stepped her and lodged his shin into her diaphragm using her own momentum. As she stumbled, he called his own weapon, dark energy popping and crackling as it solidified into his personal favorite, a wicked two bladed polearm.  
From there the real fight began, for every swipe of Aldryde’s claws, Zelzerit got in two of his own. For every snap of her magic Zelzerit had one larger; it was easy to see that Zelzerit easily outmatched Aldryde, it was also easy to see he was being hampered by the loss of his wings as a counterbalance. Colril was sure he’d almost fallen five times already and gained a new set of bleeding gashes.  
It was as Zelzerit countered one of Aldryde’s attacks that Colril had a realization,  
“do not kill her!”  
Zelzerit faltered and Aldryde took advantage, digging on of her gauntlets into his left arm. Zelzerit cursed and kicked away, turning a glare onto his master, “what!?”  
“I said to drive them out, I didn’t say kill them. Do not kill them.”  
“You son of a-!” Zelzerit glanced at Yestela and bit down on the rest of the insult and settled instead for projecting as much anger and disdain at his master with a glare.  
Aldryde was bent double with laughter, “oh yes, I can see how yours is better than mine Zelzerit!”  
“Oh, fuck off you bitch!” Zelzerit barked. With a grumbled he spun his polearm and the blades faded and he was left with nothing more than a weighted Bo Staff.  
She continued to cackle as their fight resumed, Zelzerit growing more and more frustrated by the second. He finally had enough when she landed a kick on his bandaged wings. With a roar born of both anger and pain he unleashed his magic in a wave knocking her back.   
(finishing moves scene thing here that includes Aldryde trying to hit Col as a distraction and further pissing Zel off.)  
(Skippy skip)  
“What the hell are you doing?”  
Qaleroth and Colril turned to look at Zelzerit in tandem,  
“Colril asked for assistance.”  
“I can see that. Why is he doing warm-ups with THAT.” Zelzerit sneered pointing at the large battle axe Colril was barely holding up.  
There was a moment of silence before Zelzerit rolled his eyes and snatched the weapon from his master,  
“he’s not built for a battle axe you nitwit, just because you can swing that thing around doesn’t mean you can just teach anyone.”  
“And you can do better?” Colril couldn’t help but snap.  
Zelzerit raised an eyebrow at him before taking a step back.  
After a few calm swings the axe, Colril and Qaleroth watched with mounting awe as he launched into a series of practiced move, one of witch included anchoring the large weapon in the ground and using it as a support and another where he launched himself into the air and rolled before coming down hard.  
Once he finished, Zelzerit threw the axe back to Qaleroth, “if you want to learn how to use polearms, start with the basics.”  
“Basics?”  
Zelzerit leveled and unimpressed stare at Colril, “A stick, get a stick. Lear the basics, then add weights to the stick.”  
Colril was surprised when Zelzerit summoned a plain black shaft with a snap of his fingers.  
“What are you doing?”  
“You’re my master, you’re wanting to learn how to use polearms, my weapon. I’m not about to let you humiliate me, I’d have to kick your ass for that.”  
Zelzerit drug Colril to a good enough spot before shoving the staff into his hands and man handling him into a proper stance.  
“Show me what the metal monkey has managed to teach you.”  
Colril nodded, a small part of him warm from appreciation.  
An hour later that little spark was thoroughly snuffed out,  
“No, you idiot, thrust down! You’ve got your weapon lodged in the enemy’s diaphragm, going up means your blade would get stuck, going down causes the most damage and frees you up for a second attack using the momentum from the downward motion.”  
“Stop moving your hands!”  
“You stand like that you’ll get knocked on your ass!”  
Zelzerit had just opened his mouth to deliver yet another correction when Yestala’s voice interrupted him, “Zel, I’ve just finished a batch of blueberry biscuits.”  
Zelzerit refocused to the small woman now standing beside him who held up a small biscuit, she smiled at him,  
“it’s a different recipe, say ah.”  
Zelzerit didn’t hesitate, “ah.” The small flower shaped biscuit quickly vanished.  
Hist self-proclaimed teacher now distracted Colril sighed in relief and let himself flop into the dirt. A biscuit was nudged against his lips also, “say ah.”  
“Ah,” Colril carefully took the treat, “thanks mom.”  
She smiled at him and offered more to and eagerly accepting Zelzerit.  
“You two have been working out here so hard I though you both could use a treat. Enjoy.”  
Zelzerit hummed in gratitude, mouth full of two more biscuits.  
Colril watched as Zelzerit inhaled the small sweets before he voiced a question that had been on his mind sense the first time his mother had asked Zelzerit to taste one,  
“when was the last time you ate sweets?”  
There was a pregnant pause as Zelzerit stared at him.  
Colril shifted in place as the silence continued, “look, I’m sorry I- “  
Colril didn’t get to finish as Zelzerit was suddenly gone, nothing but the rustle of wind evidence of his movement. Colril sat up confused and looked around before his attention as caught by Qaleroth and Frailrie ran by him in full armor.  
That’s when he realized the cloud in the distance were familiar.  
“another backlash…?”  
Zelzerit scowled as he cut through the magic, twisted around and beat back another with a wing. He searched for the Soul Companion he’d seen moments ago. A flash of silver caught his eye and he turned just in time to see the other being caught. A blast of energy freed them but even Zelzerit could make out the mangled form of a mangled feathered wing. As the Companion started to fall Zelzerit dove, he needed to see the armor, he had to know it was who he thought it was.  
A surge of magic knocked him off course and he cursed, swiping it back.  
Frantically he turned to search for the other only to see Frailrie had caught him in her ribbons and was guiding him towards home.  
(The rest was actually more detailed but fuck it, I’ll add more detail if I actually write this.)  
Colril makes a second bond with the other SC, his name is Domrun, Zelzerit yells at him for scarring him and reveals the two know each other very well and Domrun just takes all the yelling in stride saying how much he missed his little hubby too. Domrun is on what is considered the ‘good’ side but as the two talk they realize that both sides are actually being played against each other and so begins the journey to get to one the ‘good’ king because even if he’s being played the ‘bad’ one is a dick.


	4. That's Not Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning I cried, that may be because when I'm actually writing the characters I get more emotionally involved so you mnight not cry but I did.

That’s not fair:

(warning I made myself cry just thinking this out.)

The army making its way towards the small mountain village dwarfed the small militia that had formed.

They stood no chance.

Not that Amas would let them reach the village of course.

He smiled wanly as he made his way between the militia, past old men and young boys alike. They parted before him, sensing something was not quite right.

Said aura caught the attention of the leader of this villages little guard.

Elion quickly turned, his face a mask of confusion and watched in mounting surprise as, with every step he took, Amas changed.

First, his blond hair turned black and a pair of curling horns burst from his temples one after the other. Scales formed gauntlets on his arms, ending in deadly claws. In one step he placed down a bare foot, in the other a wickedly taloned dragon’s claw.

As Amas stepped past Eloin the simple brown robe he had been wearing transformed baring his chest and creating a more intricate skirt about his waist, Elion stared at the serpentine tail that was revealed.

“Thank you.”

Elion and those around him started at the soft voice.

“What?”

Amas chuckled and turned towards him, scales had appeared to frame his face and his blue eyes had gone black.

“Tank you for reminding me what it was to be happy. I’ll protect you now.”

In the silence Amas held out one hand towards the ground and began writing in the air. With a churning sound the earth at their feet was split, a large runic symbol took shape. A wave of his hand and a shimmering shield appeared and spread until it covered the village.

“There, you’ll be safe now.”

“wait, wait a minute, Amas!” Elion reached out only to be met with the barrier.

“I’m sorry, it will fade in a few moments but, I can’t let you interfere with this.”

Ignoring the ever growing cry behind him, Amas approached the closing army.

At its head was the young king Othorion.

Amas did not stop his approach even as a hailstorm of arrows befell him, his wings raised and they were riddled with shafts but he did not care. A flurry of magic slammed into him, causing him to stumble but he did not stop.

“Othorion, High King,” Amas called, “I will not fight you. My life is yours if you would but grant a dying Dracon his last request.”

“My lord no, it’s a trick.” “Does he mock us?” “He’s gone mad!”

“I may have gone mad, yes. But I do not mock you. Would an oath suffice?”

Othorion frowned, “and oath?”

Amas nodded, “I, Amaras the Almighty, last of the black scale clan shall do no harm to the king Othorion on this day or any day hence forth as long as no harm befalls me first. Do you accept, Othorion, high king?” (yes, he says this in this order on purpose.)

“My lord!”

“Yes, I accept, Amas the almighty.” With that Othorion urged his mount forward until he met Amas on the arrow riddled field.

“Name your request, dark one.”

Othorion grew tense as Amas raised his arm, oath or not Amas was not one to trifle with. It was with horror however, that Othorion beheld the moment Amas dug is claws under the large shield plate that was centered on every Dracon’s chest. Slowly, the clear, throbbing crystal that was hidden there was revealed. The sickening sound of the scale being torn away before Amas tossed it aside was indescribable.

A pale face looked up at Othorion, with a start he realized that there were tears there, just waiting to fall yet stubbornly held at bay.

“My life is your, Othorion, Hight King, if only you slay me with the spear that has taken so many lives of my kin.”

The spear in question, a simple weapon at first glance but throbbing with power to those sensitive enough to feel it, was held in Othorion’s hand.

Still in a state of shock, the king leveled the spear with the pulsing diamond that served as Amas’ heart.

“May I ask, for one other thing, high king? Not a request, a plea. Will you tell me, what did my people do to displease the king, your father, so?”

Othorion faltered, “what? How dare you claim not to know your crimes!” Othorion’s grip on his spear tightened, “thousands, nah, tens of thousands lay dead by your talons alone and you dare question?”

Amas tilted his head, “I know this, I also know I only did my duties when the king ordered them. So please, tell me, what task did we fail?”

“task…”

Something seemed to break in the confused dark eyes staring at Othorion.

“You do not know…? There are no borne black scales, High King. My scales were once a brilliant gold but as one uses darker magics so too does the scale darken. We served the king for generations, bread and trained until it did not harm us to use the black magics, selected our mates to produce the best offspring. You did not know?”

“No I…” Othorion’s mouth felt dry, “no borne black scales?”

Amas shook his head.

“The nests.”

“Yes, there were no black scales in the nests.”

“How can I believe you.”

Amas seemed surprised, it faded quickly as he called a small medallion out of his lair with a twist of space. He held it up to Othorion.

Othorion felt as if the ocean had swallowed him, in his hand he held the royal signet and on the back, clearly inscribed in his peoples letters, was Amas’ name.

“Amas…”

“Othorion, High king.”

Othorion looked down at the being he now recognized as near utterly broken.

“Please, will you grant me my request? I would like, to see my family again.” Amas leaned forward until the tip of the spear tapped his heart.

Othorion swallowed, hard. His first instinct was to refuse, in his hand he held proof that this creature before him had been wronged, grievously, horribly, wronged.

But would it not be a worse fate, to damn him to life?

“Please.”

Othorion screwed his eyes shut, “I’ll make them remember, the Black scale will not be forgotten… and neither will I remove the black stain now upon my throne.”

“Oh, Othorion, I’ve already forgiven you. You will be a good king.”

Harnessing the last of his resolve Othorion forced his eyes open as he drew back the spear and plunged it towards Amas’ chest.

Amas smiled.

“NO!”

Several voices rang out as once and Othorion found his weapon halted harshly. Amas and he stared at the weapon in shock, Ama had recognized some of those voices.

Slowly, an ethereal light began to emit from the poised spear, growing brighter until it coalesced into the forms of several Dracon.

Each had their hands wrapped around the spear, halting its movement.

A female, grasping the blade itself was smiling sadly at Amas.

“Dear Amas, my poor, darling little brother. Do you think we’re just wait and watch?”

Another spoke, “This is the true power of the Soul Spear. Those slain by it are forever connected to it though not imprisoned. It takes a great mount of spiritual strength to do as we are doing now. As such, Aras my child, we leave this to you.”

Slowly all but the female at the fore faded, their power twinning through the air and funneled into her. She turned from her brother to Othorion.

“You now know that there is much you do not. Go back to your Kingdome High King and leave my brother be. The Black scale clan are gone, my brother will teach no other.”

Othorion found himself nodding even before she finished.

“That… that’s not fair…” Amas’ quite voice waivered, “sister, that’s not fair.”

The tears that had been locked away spilled from large eyes. Aras gave her brother a soft, sad look as she reached out and whipped a tear away.

“I know it may seem that way now and I’m sorry, but you can’t die yet brother. Remember we love you, we all have watched from the other side. You will never be truly alone, little one.”

“Aras, please. Please.” Amas’ grasping hand went right through her.

She said no more, leaned forward to place a soft kiss upon his brow and with a soft glow, restored his chest plate.

Amas fell to his knees as she faded, “I just… wanted…”

Whatever he said after was lost as he dug his hands into his hair and began sobbing in earnest. Othorion holstered his spear and leapt down to kneel beside him, his own heart shuddering. If he had though Amas had look near broken before, the screaming, miserable form before him was utterly shattered.

He barely made out the sounds of footsteps getting closer over Amas’ cries. It was Elion who threw himself down with them and did what Othorion dared not. He drew the shuddering form into his arms and held on. The sounds Amas’ emitted were animalistic, Othorion worried he would smother himself.

As more and more villagers gathered around them Othorion stepped back. He sent a warning glare at his men as he realized that they had crept closer themselves. They had their weapons drawn.

“Sheathe your swords, there will be no battle today.”

“But my king.”

“I said sheath them!”

Othorion turned back as he felt a presence appear beside him.

“High King.”

T was Elion once more. Othorion didn’t bother with apologies, “if I leave him here, will you and your people heal him?”

Elion and several others called out affirmations.

“Then take him.”

Othorion said no more, returning to his mount and directing his men to leave.

Elion returned to the tight knot that was Amas, Elion’s sister and their two small children that had somehow all wheedled themselves into the throng of shoulders after the barrier was raised.

There were no more sounds, Myra held Amas to her chest, ear over her heart. The only sign he was still conscious were the dark eyes that stared at nothing as they continued to leak.

“Com on Myra, let’s take him home.”


End file.
